We were shown to a nice little room, where the waiter came near getting himself into trouble by informing me with needless severity that it was not permitted to lock the door.

Miss May did not seem to hear what he said. She was removing her blue veil at a little gla.s.s that hung on the wall.

When she took the chair opposite to me and accepted the menu at my hands, she looked so charming that I had to put a veritable Westinghouse brake on my arms.

CHAPTER X.

ONCE THERE WAS A CHILD.

The meal that we ordered was well cooked and well served, and being provided with that best of all sauces, hunger, I did it full justice.

Our conversation seemed, however, rather dull, and there was not that flow of spirits that I expected when we entered the place. Miss May seemed absorbed in thought, though she declared, when I rallied her on the point, that she was not down hearted, but very happy to be there.

Occasionally when footsteps were heard in the corridor she started nervously, which led me to suppose that she feared intrusion. I thereupon remarked that while it was against the rules to bolt the door of the room, I believed a good-sized tip would secure the privilege; to which she replied, with a vehemence I could not understand, that she would not hear of such a thing.

One might imagine she suspected me of an intention to murder her, so earnest was her protest.

"Oh, I would much rather leave it unlocked," I said. "I was only trying to please you."

She made no answer, and I found my spirits, always mercurial, beginning to sink a little. Noticing my dejection, she came to my rescue and soon had me all right again. We talked of the journey, she asking many particulars of my former visit to the Caribbean Islands. She had never been at sea for more than a few hours and wondered if she was liable to that malady so much to be dreaded, seasickness. I a.s.sured her it was not nearly as bad as it was painted and told of my own slight experiences in that line, years before.

My companion ate and drank sparingly. She declined my proposal to order champagne, and mixed her claret and apollinaris like a veritable tyro in restaurant dining. This rather pleased me, on the lookout as I was for indications that she might be other than she seemed. She had every mark of the true lady, and I was well prepared to believe it, when I learned, some days later, of the station in which she had been born and in which her childhood was pa.s.sed.

"I have been thinking," she remarked, after one of her long pauses; "would it not be best for me, to take your family name? I wish, above all things, to avoid suspicion."

"I fear we are a little too late for that," I replied. "I was obliged to give your name to the agent and he has already placed it on the pa.s.senger list."

"Will that list get into the newspapers?" she asked, nervously.

"I presume so."

"Then you must manage to have my name changed, at all hazards. My old employer would use every means to annoy me if he discovered where I am going."

"It is only recorded as 'Miss M. May,'" I said. "Surely there is more than one person of that name in the world."

She shook her head and bit her lips in distress.

"It must be changed," she repeated. "It will not do to give him the slightest clue. He imagines himself 'in love'--Heaven help me!--and I dare not risk it. Any name you like, but my own."

"What can he do?" I inquired. "You don't think I would let him annoy you, when you were under my protection."

"He can do many things. No, there is no way but to alter the name. Tell the agent the lady you expected is not going--that she has been taken ill--and that another is to fill her place. Do not argue, do not hesitate, or I shall be compelled, even now, to give up the journey. And that," she added, seeing my sober face, "you know well I would not like to do."

This was enough to settle the matter and I said I would give the agent in the morning any name she desired.

"I would like it the same as your own," she said, thoughtfully. "It might save infinite trouble. Just record me as Miss M. Camwell. Is there any reason against that?"

Yes, there was one and it occurred to me. The name, which I had decided to use, was so near my own that Uncle Dugald would be likely to see it, not to say anything about Hume, Tom Barton and Statia. They might lay the twisting of Donald Camran into "David Camwell" to the carelessness of copyist and printer, but their suspicions would certainly be aroused if they saw next to my name that of a "Miss" Camwell.

"I will change your name in some way," I answered, after a long pause, "but I see dangers in the plan you propose, nearly as great as in the present one."

I then gave her an inkling of my fears, saying I did not wish any sharp friend to guess what I was doing, which was possible with two such uncommon names in just a position on an alphabetical list.

She did not seem satisfied, but raised no objection when I asked her if I might call her Miss M. Carney, which I thereupon decided to do.

It was rather dull, take it altogether, the dinner, but when we were again in a cab and rolling toward Forty-fifth Street, Miss May brightened, like the close of a cloudy day, just before the sun sinks into the obscurity of the western sky. She put one of her hands on mine, quite as if the act was a wholly thoughtless one, but it sufficed to cheer me up. She even volunteered a prophesy that we would be good friends and contented fellow voyagers.

Before we reached her door she asked me at what hour I would call on the morrow, quite as if anxious to see me. After a little debate I decided upon three in the afternoon. That would give her the entire morning with her dressmaker, for necessary alterations in the garments she had purchased.

She did not seem to notice particularly when I raised the gloved hand I held and pressed it to my lips at parting. It was an act that any lady might pardon, and she probably thought nothing of it.

"To-morrow, then, at three," she said, smiling at me from the curbstone.

"Yes. Don't keep me waiting," I answered, remembering the morning.

"I will try not to; these dressmakers are so unreliable, though.

You--you wouldn't rather I would come to your rooms? Perhaps there is another of those rules we have been running across, against it. If there is none, and you prefer--"

I said I approved of the idea highly and that I was at liberty to invite to my apartment any person I pleased.

"You spoke of a machine that I have never used," said Miss May, tentatively. "If you have one there, as a sort of excuse--"

"I have one," said I. "Although it won't be needed for that purpose. You remember the number, -- West Thirty-fourth."

She nodded and spoke to my driver, repeating it to him. Then with another of her bright smiles she waved me good-by and ascended the steps, while I was driven away.

"Henry," I was saying ten minutes after, to the hall boy, "I expect a young lady to-morrow, between three and four, who will ask for Mr.

Camwell."

"There isn't any Mr. Camwell in the house, sir," said the boy.

"There will be at that hour. He will be in my rooms. You may not see him enter and you may not see him leave, but he will be here. All you have to do is to say 'Yes, ma'am,' to the lady and bring her to my door."

"I understand," said Henry, with a wholly superfluous grin, that showed how little common sense the average hall-boy possesses.

"No, you don't understand anything," I responded, snappishly. "Do as I order and you'll lose nothing. Make the least mistake and I will see that you get your notice."

He responded meekly that he would be careful and then handed me a letter, which I saw was from Miss Brazier. He also said that Mr. Barton had called and expressed surprise when he heard that I had left no word for him.

Poor Tom! It came to my recollection all at once that I had promised to spend the evening at his house, or send him a note if unable to do so.

Well, I would write him an apology before I went to sleep.

This is what Miss Brazier said:

Dear Mr. Camwell:--I wish I could understand you, but the riddle grows harder and harder. Sometimes you seem a combination of Don Quixote, Mephistopheles and Hector Greyburn. At one moment I believe you the greatest wretch alive; at the next I ascribe your sentiments to the buoyancy of youth and convince myself that you are at heart an honorable man.